A Woodpecker's Tale
by Pineapple3000
Summary: Viola is descendant of none other than the famous Johanna Mason, who died in the failed revolution. Raised by a foster family since she was born, she lives in the remains of her District 7, with the Hunger Games newly re-invented.


Today is the day of the reaping; for this occasion, I will sleep in, I will eat what I like and as much as I like and do whatever I want. I do this in defiance to the Capitol. Ever since the revolution failed they have created new ways to torture us, so I let myself have a day of fun to shove it in their faces. I mentally formulate ideas and plans on what to do today. I want to get my mind off the reaping as much as I can. I am still just sixteen, after all.

I get out of bed at nine, my resolve of lying there doing nothing crumbled up. I just can't sit still. I smell breakfast, and by what I can tell, it's eggs and bacon! My father sits at the table, writing quickly on some paper. Mother gives my hair a disapproving look but continues to pick at the sizzling bacon. I take a white page from my father's pile and draw. I love drawing; it always seems to help me tune everything out. I jump when my mother sets a steaming plate in front of me.

"Thank you Mommy" I say with a smile and start wolfing everything down. She glares at me a little but smiles warmly.

I decide to go for a walk. On my way out, I grab a berry muffin, my little wood carving knife and stuff them into my satchel. I pull on my running boots and I'm out the door. I run, passing our neighbors, the shops and finally the last of the houses. I hate looking at those ones. My family doesn't live in the rich part of town but at least we always have enough to eat. The people who live there are, well, always dying.

* * *

I skip to the "new" forest. We call them "new forests" because it's where we plant new trees to replace the ones we've cut but mostly the ones that the fires burned. As I go further, they gradually get bigger, and soon, I find my tree. My mother and Father planted it when I was born so it is my age. I give it a hug and stand straight next to the trunk. I measure myself and nick the wood slightly. Ah-ha! I've grown at least a centimeter since spring!

I climb up swiftly, my hands used to the rough bark. I dig a bit of wood out of my satchel and start to carve it into a whistle. Daddy always says I remind him of a woodpecker.

"Hey there Viola!" says a familiar voice. Tom is looking up at me from the ground below.

"May I come up?" he asks dramatically.

"You find your own tree!" I say to him.

"I'm coming up." he says blandly.

I smile. He climbs up and perches on a branch just a little to my left and just a little lower than mine. A gust of wind blows at his unruly brown hair. He looks up at me with his blue eyes and smiles gleefully.

"I brought a muffin, want to share it?" I ask.

"Berry?" He asks hopefully. I nod and give him half of my muffin.

"The reaping is at two isn't it?" he asks, chewing thoughtfully.

"Yeah."

"I'll see you there then. Good luck."

He finishes his half and thanks me. I think he wants to volunteer, I mean, we've talked about it. He can use an axe pretty well and he has a bit of muscle. I personally don't see the point; I'd rather just go on living as I am now.

* * *

I dress up into my green velvet dress (my only dress) and patiently let my mother brush the leaves and twigs out of my hair. She braids it delicately, pulling some hairs now and then, making me growl.

Finally she's done with my torture and lets me go. I give my father a big hug and kiss my mother on the cheek. There is always a "what if".

The reaping takes place just in front of the justice building and the whole town is gathered. I see some people I know but most are all strangers. I easily spot Tom and wave at him. We are the same age. When I'm separated from my parents I quickly untie my hair and undo the braid to leave my hair wild and puffy.

After our mayor gives us the boring speech, our districts mentors and escort come up on stage. Our escort, Rillie Tobswat, walks elegantly to the girl's reaping bowl. With an unnecessary flourish, she pulls out a paper and reads it out loud.

"Viola Goldthread!"

I go cold all over. What? What? Why? Two peacekeepers usher me along to the stage. I hear a strangled cry and see my mother sobbing into my father's neck, his arms wrapped protectively around her and his eyes shining.


End file.
